


Tungsten's Gorillaz Oneshots

by Tungsten



Series: All For the Sake of Music--Tungsten's Gorillaz Universe [2]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2nu, F/M, Fluff, General life of Gorillaz, Lots of stories about lots of things- don't really know how to tag this at all, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8063239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tungsten/pseuds/Tungsten
Summary: A bunch of Gorillaz one-shots for your reading pleasure; scenarios I liked or ideas I had that I felt I needed to write.  Many will be 2nu-centric, but many will focus on different band members or situations.  Stories will be happy, fluffy, or funny… for the most part.





	1. Noodle's Realization

**Author's Note:**

> Unless stated otherwise, you can assume one-shots are a part of the Maybe In Time storyline. In other words, things in that same ‘universe’ that don’t fit the focus of the story or something.

**Phase 2**

This was the night Noodle realized she was in love.

She didn't know quite when her feelings began to emerge, but she was 15 when she realized what they were- and just how strong they were.

It began a normal night.  She was hunched over a table dealing with math work.  Such an alien thing to her, school work.  All this time she’s never felt the need for it.  But Russel, being the responsible adult he was, signed her up for online courses since there was no way she could attend physical school given their lifestyle.  She protested at first, arguing she simply didn't need it, saying that she knew more than the program would teach her already and that it was all useless information anyway.  But Russel was far too clever, as he enlisted 2D to help convince her.  The singer barely had to open his mouth before she agreed to take the classes with a smile.

And now she was trudging through her first homework assignment.  It wasn't difficult, not in the slightest, but it was immensely bland and boring and rather tedious.  Naturally, being the hyper-disciplined, laser-focused individual she was, she found herself staring blankly ahead.  Lost in her own thoughts, she snapped back into reality when her eyes caught a flash of light.  It was insignificant.  Merely the flash of orange and red from a television explosion shining on 2D’s face.

She didn't know what he was watching, but it must have been rather violent, because more of these flashes soon followed.  She couldn't hear it.  To allow her to work, 2D had muted it and turned subtitles on.  With each flash of an explosion, she caught another glimpse of his face, and paid quite a bit of attention to it for some reason.  After a moment’s consideration, she decided that she rather liked the way he looked.  Nice nose, square jaw, eyes that were dark and dangerous but still expressive and loving.

She shoved these thoughts to the back burner and continued to stare at numbers on her paper.  She’d been slaving away for hours, and now she could not find any motivation to continue.  So, she put her pencil down, shut off the light above her, and joined her bandmate on the couch.  After a moment a small distance away, she cuddled up next to him, as was always the case.  A reflex leftover from childhood that never really went away.  Her head lay on his chest and she could hear his heartbeat.  There was something oddly comforting about it really.  She was in no state of stress, no state of worry, yet the steady thump still transported her to a realm of utter peace.

“Uhh… Noods?  You okay?”

She looked up at him, finding his newly pleasing dark eyes with her own, and found herself in a state she never thought she’d encounter.  She was nervous.  Why, she didn’t know.  But she did know that looking 2D in the eye, resting on his body, made her heart go crazy.  Literally.  Her heart rate increased dramatically.

“Huh?  Ye- yeah, Toochi, why do you ask?

“Your face is kinda red and you just look a little… sick or something.”

“Uh, no, I’m, uhh, I’m not sick.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.  I'm sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I don't know… but thanks for caring.”

“You're… welcome…”

By now 2D was eyeing her with suspicion, confused by her odd behavior.  It didn't take long for him to simply dismiss it and turn back to the movie, having come to no conclusions whatsoever.  It was especially easy since she soon after scampered off in a bit of a hurry, running to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

What was that?  Something went wrong there, she was sure of it.  Perhaps she was ill, or perhaps something was bothering her subconsciously.  Whatever it was, she was sure it wasn’t serious.  It would pass.  It was only a coincidence that she got the odd feeling upon making eye-contact with 2D.  It was something that happened all the time, right?  Since she was a child.  So there was no way this was any different.  Maybe she picked up a virus, or was just overworked or something.  Yeah, that was it.  Exhaustion.

It was late enough, so she donned her pajamas, put on some soft music, and climbed into bed.  It was then she noticed that nearly everything in her room was red.  The color of violence, of aggression, of blood… of lust.  That’s why she couldn’t sleep, she convinced herself.  The red.  Not because she couldn’t stop thinking about 2D’s beautiful eyes and goofy smile.  Not because she found herself wishing he was there with her now.  Not because she was worried about what she was feeling.

Surely it was the red.

Why was her room red?  To her, the color represented her place of origin, because of the red sun in the center of the Japanese flag.  She had spent the vast majority of her true life (post-training) in England, yet she still felt as though Japan was a sort of second home to her.  She wanted to live there at some point.  Maybe not to live out her days, but certainly for a few years.

Now that she thought of it, 2D rather liked Japan too.  At least, he seemed to.  Maybe he was afraid of upsetting her.  He had been there once, on tour with the band of course.  But he really enjoyed himself.  Maybe she would take him with her if she ever did move there for a while…

_ Back to 2D… of course… _

She resolved to remain confused and pushed whatever thoughts or inclinations she had aside.  Now she would sleep, and hopefully wake up with a clear head.  Hopefully she’d forget all about this night by tomorrow.

She didn’t.

\--

Helping Noodle through her schoolwork was rather satisfying to Russel.  It had been so long that he had forgotten, save for the times he was possessed or watching his friends die, he actually  _ liked _ school.  And he was good at it, excelling even before he attended music school.  He’d probably end up a teacher if he didn’t become a musician.  And while he liked the path he chose, he couldn’t help but find himself curious of the other.  So when a small opportunity arose, he jumped at it.

The opportunity was found at a coffee shop in the form of a late-twenties woman named Angel whose dress brings to mind that of a stereotypical ‘slut’.  She had dark skin and was empirically beautiful, but somewhat vapid and lacking personality.  But none of that mattered to Russel.  To him, she was a college student struggling through her studies and in need of a tutor, nothing more.

Russel’s intentions were sincere.  Noodle could see it in his eyes.

But Noodle could tell her’s weren’t.  She could tell that she was fond of Russel, and that her true intentions were not to learn.  Noodle could tell that this stranger was lying when she said she didn’t go to college straight out of high school because she had to work, and Noodle could tell when she used blatantly suggestive language directed at her supposed teacher.

But Russel didn’t have a clue.

And so Noodle (and after a while, Murdoc) watched curiously as this woman tried to seduce the drummer with subtlety, and the man shrugged it off and continued to talk to her about advanced mathematics.  There was a point in the late afternoon when Angel clearly came to terms with the fact that she was getting nowhere, and started legitimately accepting what help she could, which was a surprising bit.

Evening rolled around, and Russel offered to have her join them for dinner.  She hesitantly accepted, half wanting to leave herself, but just before she denied, something else caught her eye that caused her to stay.  All she needed was a chance, one she thought she had as soon as Russel left to gather groceries (he intended to make fresh spaghetti).

And then Noodle found herself in a slightly awkward position.  Sitting next to Murdoc on the couch in what was effectively the living room, both of them feeling somewhat obligated to entertain the stranger standing before them, neither wanting to.  Angel just rubbed them both the wrong way, but Noodle couldn’t quite figure out why… at first.  She figured it out as soon a she deduced what made her stay.

Following the gaze of the stranger, Noodle’s suspicions were all but confirmed.  She was staring at 2D (who was in the kitchen, occupying himself god-knows how) with the same eyes with which she looked at Russel a couple of hours prior.  And then, to the dismay of everyone present, she spoke.

“He’s a piece, isn’t he?  I think you two have probably figured out that I came here with Russel because… well… I was  _ interested _ .”

“He didn’t seem very interested in you, love.” Murdoc said.

“Well, yeah, I know, but… I’m thinking I have a chance with that blue haired guy over there… what’s his name?”

“He responds to ‘idiot’ or ‘asshole’, mostly.”

Angel smirked.  “Don’t like him, do you?  What about you, girly?  What do you think of him.”

Noodle froze up for a second, not knowing what she was expected to say.  “Well, um… you’ll have to be more specific.”

“I mean, you'd fuck him, right?” Angel asked without turning to look at the other two.

“Yeah,” she said without realizing.  Noodle’s embarrassment was short-lived, as she realized she was not the only one who answered.  Both women turned to Murdoc with raised eyebrows, prompting him to shrug nonchalantly before getting up and making a calm departure.  Immediately after, Angel slowly walked over to 2D and introduced herself.  Noodle couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could tell they were smiling and laughing.

_ Shit, he’s interested _ .

Why did that upset her?  Would be far from the first time something like this has happened…

And they kept talking and talking and soon they were touching each other lightly.  Little punches on the shoulder, resting their hands on each other’s, gentle strokes of the face…  And as she watched the woman court her friend, Noodle began to feel something else.  Something that confirmed her subconscious suspicions about her earlier feelings, but in the worst way possible.

She felt jealous.

Soon, Angel said something that prompted 2D to point to the lift- the one that would take them to his room.  And so she took his hand and dragged him in that direction, both laughing and smiling as they passed in front of Noodle.  Angel, of course, didn’t give the young girl a glance.  But 2D did.  And his face fell as soon as their eyes met.  She didn’t know how she looked, but it couldn’t have been good, as 2D’s enthusiasm was clearly destroyed by their split-second of eye contact.  But he didn’t stop.  And she could do nothing but watch as the man and woman disappeared behind the elevator doors.

\--

2D sat up in bed, unable to sleep.  A beautiful woman slept beside him, still breathing a little heavily after the night’s activities.  She’d shut her eyes and fallen into the land of dreams very quickly, but 2D simply couldn’t.

He had to stop sleeping around.

He had to stop if it hurt  _ her _ somehow.

And from that point forward, he did.

\--------

Okay, AO3 doesn’t let you put notes after the first chapter in any given work, so I’ll just do it here.

First oneshot!  Yay!  More to come!

They’ll probably mostly be longer than this, there will be a few shorter though.

Thanks for reading, comments and kudos help a lot.


	2. The Mall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc and Noodle go to the mall, and talk a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY NOODLE!  
> What? I'm almost a month late? Right, right, sorry...  
> Haven't had much time to write the past couple of months; sorry for the wait. I'll be impressed to see any familiar faces.  
> Anyway, I realized I haven't really used Murdoc all that much in anything I've written, much less the dynamic between Murdoc and Noodle. So I decided to give it a shot. Short but not horrible.

“I hate these American shopping malls.”

“How are they any worse than British ones?”

“They're not.  All malls are terrible.”

“Well you didn't  _ have  _ to come.”

“Of course I did.  If I didn't I'd have to deal with you whining about it for the next month, unless of course you decided to break my neck instead.”

Gift giving was a phenomenon Murdoc simply didn't understand, especially on an occasion such as this.  It wasn't Christmas, or anyone’s birthday, no, they were on the first leg of their Phase 4 tour.  Noodle thought she’d buy the others presents to show she appreciated their return and hard work, and mentioned to Murdoc that, as self-proclaimed bandleader, he should do the same.  Naturally, the two found themselves in the middle of a busy shopping center, one thinking hard about what to get each band member, and one simply following and complaining.  They now sat amidst a crowded food court while Smile.dk’s  _ Little Butterfly  _ played on the intercom (“Ugh, I hate this sort of… shit.  It’s not even music!  And I suppose  _ you _ like this sort of J-pop thing, don't you Noodle?”  “It’s not J-pop… but yes, I like it.”).  It was hot, noisy, and rather uncomfortable.  Half-eaten Chick fil A sat in front of them, and Noodle wore sunglasses hoping not to be recognized.  Murdoc, of course, wanted attention, but didn't feel the need to make a scene.  A scene would come.  At least, that's how it always seemed to work.

“You know, Noodle… I don’t think I understand you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I just don’t get… you.  You’re always so… I dunno, happy?  Is that the word?  I don’t think it is.”

“I’m happy because I love my life.  I love myself and I love my family- even you.  More than that I love what we do.  I’m happy because I’m at peace with myself, Murdoc.  I know who I am.  I know who I was.  I know what I want, and what I plan for the future.  I am happy because I have confronted my demons and overcome them.  We all must-”

“Ah, shut up, I didn’t mean to get you all philosophical.  Don’t take this the wrong way, but when you go on and on about that shit like you do, sometimes I wanna take your head and slam it against a wall.”

“Okay, fine.  But you  _ did  _ ask.”

“And I expected a one-word answer or something.  Sex.  Food.  Booze.  Something like that.  That’s the kind of stuff I live for, Noods.  That’s why I’m happy.”

“ _ You’re  _ happy?”

“Well… usually happy.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means that I’m a rock star, Noodle.  That means that I play hit songs, and go home to all the women and money I could ever want.”

“And you call that happy…”

“Think so, yeah.”

“You sound so sure now, but a second ago you were asking me how I could possibly be happy.  I don’t know if-”

“New subject.  I didn’t come here for a therapy session.”

“You might need one.”

“The day I set foot into therapy is the day 2D solves all the problems of science and the universe.”

“He’s actually pretty bright… sometimes.”

“Name  _ one time _ he’s said anything even close to smart.”

“Uhh… a lot of times, when he was around me and… no one else.  But if you want something on recording, um, he had a pretty good answer to one of the  _ We Are the Dury _ questions… what was it, ten years ago?”

“Really, now?  Well, I’ll be the judge of that.  Gimme your phone, I’m gonna look it up.”

Noodle handed him the device, finding his difficulty with it slightly amusing.  He was 50, after all.  He managed to turn the phone’s screen on, but could get no farther, halted by a passcode and a lock screen that made him cringe- pictures of anime cats.  The device was then thrown at Noodle, aimed at her forehead, but she leaned back and caught it, as if she were expecting the attack from the start.

“I’ll just do it when we get back to the hotel,” Murdoc said.  “Speaking of, how much longer are we gonna be here?  All the noise is starting to get to me…”

“We can leave as soon as you pick out your gifts for ‘D and Russ, okay?”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Come on, Murdoc, it doesn’t have to be expensive-”

“Look.  If I thought you guys deserved gifts, I’d get you gifts, but the reality is, it’s  _ my  _ band,  _ I’ve  _ done all the work, and… oh, shit.”

Noodle’s expression wouldn’t be readable by anyone who didn’t know her well.  It was extremely plain, emotionless… but her bandmates knew that this face meant she was ready to kill someone.  It wasn’t quite anger, but it wasn’t quite anything else either.  She wore this face around Murdoc more than anyone else, though everyone she came into contact with regularly experienced this at some point.  All but 2D.

“Murdoc… I will give you one chance to acknowledge that you put less effort into Gorillaz than any of us three.  Even some collaborators.”  It was true, after all.   


“Yeah, right, fine.  I’m a lazy slob.”

She knew he didn’t mean it, but she accepted it anyway.  There were other things to talk about.  “You know, Murdoc… I had something of an ulterior motive for taking you out to get things today.”

“Oh ho ho,” he said, a perverted grin spreading across his face.  “I see.  So the dullard’s not quite gettin’ it done, is he?  Need a little... supplementary-”

“No.  Never say that again.  Please.”

“Oh.  Well alright then, what is it?”

“I wanted 2D and Russel to have some bonding time.  They haven’t really talked much since…”   


“Since you decided ‘D was your blue-haired boy toy?”

“I guess you could put it that way, yeah.  Russ has been… annoyed by the whole concept of ‘D and I being together.  And 2D has been scared of Russ, and rightfully so.  So I figured they’d have to get along stuck in a hotel room by themselves, right?”

“Uh huh, sure.  ‘Cause we live in a sitcom.”

“Murdoc, I’m serious.”

“I am too.  You must admit, expecting them to get along stuck together like that… it makes even less sense than you dating the dullard in the first place.”

“You have a problem with 2D and I too?”

Murdoc chuckled for a moment.  “Noodle… Noodle, Noodle, Noodle… you are young, beautiful, intelligent, rich, famous, and talented.  You can pretty much take your pick from any bloke on the planet.  So I don't understand why the hell you're staying with an old, beat up drug addict with strange hair and the mind of an autistic child.”

“Well, we have had a special bond as long as we’ve known each other, and-”

“What, are you gonna say  _ love _ ?  You lot won't shut up about it, will you?  Love this, love that, ever since you two have been shagging every other night you haven't missed an opportunity to say, ‘Oh, we love each other soooo much!’  Lemme tell you about your precious ‘love,’ okay, Noods?  It’s pointless.  Meaningless.  A construct of industry.  At the end of the day, it’s all to sell greeting cards and wedding gifts.  Money, money, money.  I respect the people who profit from all this, hell, I might even admire them.  But blokes like you who should know better than to buy in to this scheme?  Not so much.”

“You don't need to be so cynical.”

“Oh, please.  You're smart, Noods.  You know I'm right.”

“Well… maybe.  But love itself is a real thing, even if it has been romanticized and exploited by corporations.  And I know when I'm feeling it, okay?  And, yes, I do buy into these ‘schemes,’ but it can be a lot of fun!”

“Fun? ...I'm not sure whether I'm disappointed or impressed.”

“You don't have to be either.  Just let us enjoy ourselves however we want.”

“...fine, but I don't have to like it.”

“No, you don't.”

“And are you ever gonna finish that damn sandwich?”  He gestured to the now half chicken sandwich that had not been touched for several minutes.

“Oh, I don’t really know.  I wasn’t that hungry in the first place.  Come on, let’s finish shopping.

Discarding their remaining food and wrappers, they stood and walked down the crowded, poorly lit hall of the mall.  They made small talk about whatever they felt would be a good subject, everything from music to weather, though the conversation flowed a little more naturally than one might think.  They hadn’t had very much one on one time… ever, so this was something of a unique experience.

Murdoc was halfway through listing the name of every guitar he’d ever played when something caught his eye.  A set of four figurines, each a different color, set up in the window of a store that sold vinyl records.  “Look, Noodle, the perfect gift!”

“What is it- oh.”

“Think about it!  They’d have their very own Murdoc figures to put in their rooms and worship every morning.  Isn’t that the dream?”

“Okay, I’m done with you.  Go off on your own, find something for yourself.”

“You better not be getting rid of me so you can get 2D a gift from that Victoria’s Secret over there.”

“You're disgusting.  Go… uh, go over to that GameStop, pick up something we can all play together.”

“Fine, whatever.”

And she watched him walk off, indeed hurrying into the Victoria’s Secret as soon as he was out of sight, a specific kimono already in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are super encouraging.
> 
> The follow-up to Maybe In Time is coming soon. First chapter of Re-Hash (yeah, that's what I'm calling it) is almost done and should be up within... I'm not giving myself a specific time frame because I'll certainly break it, but soon. I hope.
> 
> Thanks again, you rock.


	3. After Saturnz Barz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gorillaz at a diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck this took longer than expected. And holy fuck I haven't posted a oneshot in five months. And holy fuck this is too short. Oh well.  
> And yes, it's a bit 2nuish because I can't help myself.
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry for the wait. Enjoy.

“Okay, let me get one thing straight… we _did_ all see that stuff, right?”

The others responded.  “Oh yeah.”  “Yes.”  “Yeah, I did…”

“Great.  So either none of us are crazy… or all of us are.”

“Well, Muds,” Russel interjected, “Whether we all saw that or not… you’re still crazy.”

Noodle snorted while Murdoc tried to think of a response.  Eventually he shrugged.  “You’re probably right.”

They had found an old-fashioned diner near the limits of Detroit, hoping to have an old-fashioned American breakfast.  That is, eggs, bacon, ham, sausages, biscuits, anything under the sun in massive portions. The place was nearly empty, save for a few hungover hoodlums resting with coffee or water at the bar, probably having been there all night.  Gorillaz had found one of those large round corner booths; 2D and Noodle sat on the inside, Murdoc and Russel at the ends.  The table was red.  The seats were red.  The morning sun brought with it a heat uncharacteristic of early spring and through the open windows poured in the noise and odors of the nearby highway.

The waitress came over with a smile.  “Hi, my name is Patty, I’ll be your server this morning."

Murdoc stood with a clearly fake chuckle.  “Oh ho ho, Patty, huh?  Well…”  He took her hand.  “That’s the loveliest name I’ve ever heard, lemme tell you that.”

Patty pulled her hand away and took a step back.  “Umm… what can I get for you guys?”

With a lewd look, Murdoc replied, “I’ll tell you what you can get me-”

He was interrupted by a stern look from Russel.  “Murdoc.  Please.”

Murdoc sighed and sat down.  “Alright, whatever.  I’ll have, uh… whatever you recommend.”

“Alright, and you, sir?” she said, looking at Russel.  He gestured to a picture on his menu.  “Umm… I guess I’ll have this eggs ‘n bacon plate.  Looks pretty good.”

“Mhm, mhm, and you?”  She looked to the two in the center, prompting Noodle to respond."

“Umm… do you have anything with calamari?”

“I don’t think we do.”

“Then I’ll have the country fried steak, please.  What about you, Toochi?  What do you want?”

2D had been looking down into the table, not making much conversation.  He appeared to be uncomfortable as he looked up to face the waitress.  “Just… do you have peppermint tea?”

“No.”

“Spearmint tea?”

“No…”

“...green leaf tea?”

“Honey, we don’t got tea here.  You’re gonna have to buy some food.”

“Oh… can I just have some water please?”

The waitress looked at him oddly for a moment.  “Yeah.  Sure.  It’ll all be right out for you guys.”

They all bid thanks as the waitress disappeared behind the counter.  Russel and Murdoc engaged in some sort of conversation about when it is and is not appropriate to flirt with the waitress (Russel arguing that the answer is _never_ ), leaving 2D and Noodle to their own devices.  After a moment, she looked over at him.  His face was back in the table, that same uncomfortable look on his face.  “Toochi…” she said, resting her head in the crook of his neck.  “You should really eat something.”

“I don’t think I’m that hungry, Noods.”

“Of course you are.  We all came out of that house starving!”

“Well I had my fill when I was there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Weren’t you attacked by the pizza too?”

“No, I was attacked by a… heh heh, I guess a giant noodle.”

“Oh.  Are you okay?  Was it scary?”

“I’m fine.  And yes, it was scary, I admit.  But… you were attacked by pizza?”

“Yeah!  I was in the kitchen and I was hungry, so I opened the fridge, right?  And I saw this cake that looked real good, and I was about to take it, but then it flew up in my face and knocked me back!  Next thing I know I’m on the ground and there’s this talking pizza above me, then I was on an asteroid playing golf, then I was on another asteroid and a bunch of food was being shoved down my throat, unwrapped and everything.  It didn’t fit, it just hurt.”

“So you had a traumatic experience involving food, and now you're not hungry."

“I guess so.”

“Makes sense.  Such experiences can easily create psychological scars, especially in those… less equipped to handle them.  No offense.”

“No, I’m not offended, don’t worry.”

“I hope this doesn't last forever, ‘D,” Russell interjected.  “You can use a bit of meat on your bones.”

Murdoc scoffed.  “We don't all have to weigh 300 pounds like you, Russel.  Tired of you telling all of us that.”

“I'm just saying.  There's such thing as being too skinny, and it can be just as bad for you as being fat like me.  Look at Noodle.  On Plastic Beach a few years back, she was thin as a twig.  Malnourished and unhealthy.  But she’s eaten some, gained a few pounds, but kept her meals moderated and got plenty of exercise so she didn't _keep_ gaining.  Now she’s healthy.  Right Noodle?”

“Right,” she said with a smile, before turning to both 2D and Murdoc and beginning a speech.  “There’s a lot to be said for dietary moderation and regimented exercise.  Keeping your body healthy keeps your mind clear and-”

“Right, thanks Mom, but I’ve survived on booze alone since I was twelve and a half.”  Murdoc's interruption bothered Russel more than anyone else.

“Come on, man, you gotta listen to us.  That stuff isn't good for you.  Nutritionally, it’s basically just fat.  So you’re gonna get a big ass gut like mine and _still_ be malnourished.  I think.  Wait.  I gotta look this up.”

Russel spent a moment on his phone, but got sidetracked by Instagram notifications.  “Noodle?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you have so many pictures of a cat on your Instagram?”

“Oh, Katsu!  Isn't he adorable?”

“I suppose.  I just don't remember living with a cat.”

“He’s stayed in our room, mostly, right Toochi?”

2D nodded before adding, “He’s a good cat, he is.  But I don't know why Noodle’s so obsessed.”

She hit him on the shoulder.  “I am not obsessed.”

“You are!  Even I can tell!  Just the other day you spent an hour trying to get a good picture of Katsu eating!  You must have taken a hundred of them!”

Murdoc rolled his eyes.  “Millennials.”

“Now, now,” Russel piped up, “No need for that kind of talk.  Just cause we don't get it doesn't mean it’s wrong.  And it’s not like all Millennials at like that anyway.”

“Course they are.  Do you know how many twenty-somethings I've seen with their heads buried in phones?”

“I'm surprised you’ve noticed.  Figured your reaction to seeing a twenty-something year old would be to look at their ass.”

“...that is true.  But it doesn't mean I'm wrong.”

For a while after that, no one spoke.  Murdoc and Russel made a silent agreement not to argue anymore.  It bothered 2D like parents arguing would bother a child, and since he’d seemed the most shaken up by the events in that house, it seemed best he not be agitated.

A few minutes later, Murdoc started humming.  And bouncing his head to and fro, just a bit.  It was a song they all recognized, in fact, it was a song they wrote.  Well, 2D wrote most of it.  Naturally, he came in with his part, “Take it in your heart, now, lover…”

Then Noodle with hers.  “Back to when it was cool… there is no substitute…”

It wasn't long before they were a four-piece acapella group, the two who could actually sing trading melodies while Russel and Murdoc filled bass and harmony.  When they finished (with Noodle’s “Where it all goes down.”), the few patrons of the diner gave a half-hearted applause, followed by incoherent grunting.  Then the waitress came over.  “Listen, your food’s gonna be out soon, but my manager says if you keep singing like that, you ain’t gettin’ it.”

“Right.  Sorry,” said Russel and Noodle simultaneously, each with the face of a small child caught doing something naughty.

An old lady who looked to be about a hundred was sitting in the next booth, seeming a little out of place among the drunks, grease, and filth.  She turned around.  “Well I thought it was wonderful.  What song was that?”

Murdoc would never miss an opportunity to gloat and sell simultaneously.  “Well, it’s a song called _Andromeda_ , and it’s by the greatest band in the world, us.  The album is called Humanz and preorders are on sale right now, as are tickets for our upcoming world tour!  But it’s all made with computers and such, so an old geezer like you might not like it too much.  But it’d be great for your grandkids.  You should buy a copy as a gift for each of them, and then several more copies to wrap them in.”

“I don’t know about that…”

This woman was incredibly old.  Frail.  Thin white hair.  Lifeless eyes.  Strained, shaking movements, and no facial features aside from seemingly infinite wrinkles.

Noodle craned her neck, hoping to be seen despite her debilitating height of 5’2”.  “Umm… miss?  Uh- hajimemashite- would you like some help getting back home?  We wouldn’t want you getting hurt or straining yourself.”

The woman scoffed.  “No, I don’t need help!  I can handle this place no problem... unlike out-of-towners like you.  I was born here.  I grew up here.  My mother founded this diner and now my son runs it.”

Noodle was a little stunned.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I did not mean to-”

“Oh, you’re fine, girly.  I just don’t like it when people talk to me like I’m some helpless old lady.”  She squinted at Noodle.  “Where are you from?”

“Japan.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Wait,” Murdoc said, “Is your son the manager who wanted us to stop singing?”

“Why yes.”

“Well what’s his problem?  There’s nothing wrong with a bit of music, especially quality stuff, like ours… besides, you guys seemed to like it, right?”  He looked to the other strangers in the dining room.  A few gave groans of approval.  “See?  Music brings people together.”

“I’m sorry.  He takes after his father.  Weird, cause they never knew each other…”

“Aw…” 2D said, “That’s really sad.”

“Yeah, well… it was years ago.”

The old lady’s food arrived at her table, leaving the gang to themselves.  2D looked ahead, at nothing in particular.  “I think it’s really sad, growing up without a dad.  I loved my dad.  And my mum.  I can’t imagine what it would have been like to be a kid without them…”

Noodle turned to him and spoke after a moment’s silence.  “I grew up without parents.”

“Well… kinda.  You had that Dr. Kuku guy-”

“Kyuzo.  His name was Dr. Kyuzo.”

“Right, sorry.  But you had them, and after that you had me and Murdoc and Russ.”

“I know.  These are the people who raised me, yes, but I still don’t know my actual parents.  The people whose lives merged to create mine.  I wish I did.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, Noodle.”

“Oh, I’m not upset.  I think you’re more upset than I am, or anyone else at this table.  What do I have to do to cheer you up?”

“Just… take those glasses off?”

“Okay,” she said as she did so, “Why?”

“I just like your eyes, that’s all.  I think they’re beautiful.”  This made her blush a little.

Murdoc looked away, complaining.  “Oh, come on, I thought you two agreed not to do that cutesy stuff around us.  Right, Russ?”

He had buried himself in his phone again.  “Not paying attention on purpose.”

2D shrugged.  “Sorry.  Can’t really help it.”

At that point, their food arrived.  All steaming and looking incredible.  Murdoc had gotten a plate of hash browns; apparently they were the waitress’s favorite item on the menu.  Several minutes passed in silence as they stuffed themselves, 2D pecking at Noodle’s food at the request of both Noodle and Russel.  Once they were done, they didn’t stick around very long.  They paid up and left, piling once again into the red Cadillac parked outside.  Before they set off, Murdoc started a group discussion.  “So guys… that… spirit house, we’ll call it.  What do you think?”

2D and Russel then traded comments.

“It’s kind of dirty.”

“Scared the hell out of me.”

“Yeah, there’s definitely something supernatural about that place.”

“It’s really run-down.”

“Fridge won’t stay shut.”

“Not really suitable for living.”

Then Noodle piped up.  “Kind of reminds me of Kong.”

Murdoc started the car, and pulled onto the main road.  “So what I’m hearing is… it’s the one.”

“Where are we going now?” 2D asked.

With a chuckle, Murdoc replied.  “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I couldn't find anything that said for sure whether Katsu is a boy or a girl, so I did an Google, and Katsu is a legit Japanese boy’s name so… the cat’s a boy. Also, Noodle doesn’t necessarily canonically have any lines in Andromeda. There’s just a female voice in there that’s not attributed to any collaborators, so I’m saying it’s Noodle. And I'm only assuming that house becomes their home base for Phase 4... at this point, we don't really know.
> 
> I just realized my version of Gorillaz is like a typical family. Ages and possible romances aside, Noodle and Russel are a somewhat overprotective mom and dad, 2D’s the clueless child and Murdoc’s the rebellious teenager.
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are really encouraging. You really freaking rock.
> 
> Edit: Roses Gabor is credited with vocals on Andromeda, the same person who voiced Noodle for DARE. So I'm a little more sure when I say the female vocal part in Andromeda is Noodle.


	4. #23

_ For the sake of the story, all dialogue is written in English, though the characters are speaking Japanese. _

 

**November, 1990**

The glare on his glasses was almost enough to warrant the removal of the spectacles, but… he simply couldn’t see anything without them.  He chuckled to himself, realizing that he’d probably end up in the canal within seconds.  It was just a little better to be blinded by the lights of nighttime Dotonbori than by his old, dying eyes.

He arrived at his destination a little later than he wanted, but not tragically so.  It was such a strange thing.  An orphanage forgotten in the middle of one of the busiest tourist attractions in the country, or at least in Osaka.  Perhaps he was elevating his home to a higher level of fame and popularity than it belonged.  The lady at the counter was young, though visually tired, a little annoyed to see anyone come in.  “How may I help you,” she said through a strained smile.

“Were you told I would be arriving?” the man asked.

“Oh, are you Mr. Kyuzo?”

“I am.”

“Yes, we were told.  So you will be taking a child of your pick, no paperwork, no questions asked, on behalf of the Japanese government… this is strange.”

“I am aware.  But I will remind you that it did say  _ no questions asked _ ."

The woman was clearly very uncomfortable.  “Very well.  Do you have any preferences?”

“I just need the child to be healthy and as young as possible.”

“Sex?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She typed away on a computer for a moment.  The process was slow; computers were only recently introduced to their business.  But eventually she got results.  “Okay, we actually received a newborn yesterday.  A little girl, perfectly healthy, the result of an unwanted pregnancy.  We don’t know who her parents are, and we don’t know what her name is.  Is that okay?”

“Sounds perfect.  May I see her?”

The woman disappeared into another room for a moment, and returned with the baby wrapped up in a white blanket with pink cartoon fishes.  The man peeled back part of the blanket to reveal the child’s face.  “She’s sleeping quite soundly,” he commented as he took the baby in his arms.  The woman nodded, grabbing his shoulder as he tried to walk away.  “Is that it?  Are we done?” she asked.

“Yes,” he responded quite simply.  “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her.  But, uh… as of right now, this baby never existed.  I never came here, you don’t know my name.  Understand?”

The woman fearfully nodded as the man strode out the door with his new baby.  Outside, he took a marker out of his pocket and wrote something on the child’s forehead:  _ 23 _ .

\--

**1995**

Twenty-three children stood in a grid in a large room of their home.  This ‘home’ was the massive underground compound in Osaka where the Japanese government was training them to become the greatest soldiers in the world. Ruthless killing machines, programmed from birth to blindly follow orders, no matter how brutal. 

The man stood a short distance away from the children, watching them.  Sgt. Takahashi was guiding them through the process of rendering an opponent unconscious without the use of any weapons or tools.  Each of the children had a dummy in front of them that they were to harm.  The methods were ruthless.  The man watched as five-year-olds attacked dummies, finding use in everything from pressure points to blunt force.  More disturbingly, he watched as Takahashi showed them how to instantly break necks, a skill they practiced on real prisoners without batting an eye.

No matter.  This whole program was this man’s idea anyway.  They would create perfect soldiers, each one individually capable toppling the most powerful of the world’s governments.  A return to Japan’s former glory; a conquerer of the east.  But, these were still children, and in his opinion, even these children needed the chance to be themselves, according to the ethics board.

“Okay, Takahashi,” he said, stepping closer to the children and the corpses that went with them.  “That’s enough for today.”

“What?  You’ve never interrupted us before.”

The man pulled Takahashi to the side of the room for a private conversation.  “It wasn’t my decision.  I was told we have to treat them more humanely or they’ll pull the plug on the project.”

“But that goes against the whole point of it!  They  _ can’t _ know freedom or comfort, or they might-”

“I know.  These are weapons, not children, but I can’t get the higher-ups to see it that way.  So they’re gonna have…  _ play time _ every day for an hour.  They also have their own rooms rather than bunks.  You know that hallway we weren’t using?  I threw some beds and whatnot in those rooms… so they’ll sleep there now.”  The man turned to the children.  “Listen up!  You now have your own rooms.  We will now go to see them, understand?”

He was met with a chorus of “Yes, Mr. Kyuzo.”

With a train of five-year-olds behind him, he made his way to the newly furnished quartering area.  Each child had a room- Child One had Room One, Child Two had Room Two, et cetera.  There was also a Room Zero, which the children were told never to enter.  “Well,” the man said, after explaining all this to them, “Go ahead and do what you want.  Meet back here in sixty minutes.”

The line of children did not scatter, instead each individual looked around, uneasy, until one of them said, “What are your instructions, Mr. Kyuzo?”

“For sixty minutes, you have no instructions.”

The line still did not separate, it just got a little misshapen as the kids took steps to either side and looked at each other.  Soon it was asked again.  “What are your instructions, Mr. Kyuzo?”

The man sighed.  “Hold on…”  He left for a moment, returning with a stereo and a book of games and activities for kids.  “Turn on the music and follow the instructions in this book, and after sixty minutes, turn the stereo off and come to see me, understand?”

They all bowed and said, “Yes, Mr. Kyuzo.”

He watched for a while as the kids tried to figure the games out.  It was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life, watching killer five-year-olds trying to teach themselves what fun is.

\--

The man arrived at home that night a little more exhausted than usual.  And upset, upon walking in and seeing his wife crying on the couch.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down next to her.  She just held up a stick- a pregnancy test.  It was negative.  Again.  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he told her, holding her close to him.  “We’ll have a little girl, just like you want, okay?  Eventually.  It just takes time-”

“What if… what if we can’t have a kid?  What if there’s something wrong with me, or-”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“How can you know that?”

“To be honest, I don’t but-”

“THEN DON’T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT!”

He pulled away, stunned.  His wife noticed, and apologized.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I… I’m sorry, but… can you just leave me alone for a while?”

He hated to see his wife like that.  She was so optimistic so much of the time, always smiling, always having the desire to play and have fun as would a child.  And he loved that about her.  But it meant seeing her cry hit him even harder.

He obeyed her request, standing up to go to his home office.  Before he shut the door, he peaked at his wife one more time… there was something about her that was different this time.  As if she knew  _ for sure _ they weren’t going to have a child.  He sighed, closed the door, and grabbed the guitar he kept by his desk, a red Gibson Les Paul he’d imported from America.  In a moment, the amp was on, and a book of famous guitar riffs was sitting in front of him.  He practiced them every day.  It was a good way to remind himself what his first passion was.  A good way to remind himself that he wasn’t just some government agent conducting unethical experiments to create monsters.  The shame of the whole thing was starting to get to him…

\--

For the next few years, life progressed normally for the man and his squad of young soldiers.  Soon they knew more than just 101 ways to rip a man’s spine out.  They were taught countless martial arts and other fighting styles, educated in the operation of firearms and other weapons from around the world, and most importantly, given a general education.  Every one of them was fluent in every language under the sun, every one of them could calculate anything from basic arithmetic to high-level calculus mentally in mere seconds.  They would easily be able to serve as the world’s best teachers if they weren’t to be the world’s best soldiers.

Their free time became more relaxed, more typical of a group of five to ten year-olds at play.  The transition was eerie; one second, they’d be hyper disciplined, ruthless fighting machines, the next, ordinary children.  Something struck him as odd, however.  Most of the kids would engage in something competitive.  Sports, play-fights, even debates, twenty-two of the twenty-three enjoyed activities with a definite winner and a definite loser.  One child was a little different.  Child #23, a little girl.  The experimental one.  The original plan was to have twenty-two genetically modified kids, designed from the ground up, raised from embryo to adulthood.  It was a last-minute decision to add on one natural-born child.

While working, she was no different than the others.  She learned just as quickly, moved just as precisely.  She only showed herself to be different in this free time.  While the others jabbed at each other with swords or words, #23 sat by the stereo, dancing and singing, most impressively  _ on pitch _ .  The man took one day to watch her during this time, entertained by the young girl’s enthusiasm.  No matter what song came on, she sang it with a smile.

One day, the man decided he’d bend the rules a little.  Five minutes into the children's free time, he walked over to the group of kids and called out: “#23!”  Everyone looked at her.  “Please come with me.”  Child #23 left her spot by the stereo, doing her best to ignore the glances she was getting from her colleagues.  They were already theorizing about what she must have done wrong.

The man led her to his office.  He sat behind his desk; she took the seat directly across from him.  “Mr. Kyuzo,” she said after a moment’s silence, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you have consistently exceeded my expectations.  I just wanted to show you something.”

He reached for his own stereo and played a song, one she had never heard before.  The opening was a fast and furious guitar riff, one of his favorites of all time.  “So,” he said, turning to the girl.  “Do you like that sound?”

A big smile spread across her face.  “Yes, very much!”

“Do you want to learn to make that sound?”

She nodded furiously.  The man couldn’t help but smile.  He had snuck an object into his office that morning: his guitar.  He had dusted and polished it, just for this occasion.  As he began to play, he kept an eye on her face, seeing that adorable little smile widen even more.  After a little showing off, he walked over and handed the instrument to the child.

“Really?” she said before she took it, looking up at him with doe eyes.  The man chuckled, and set the guitar down in her lap, positioning her arms for her.

“These are frets.”  He pointed to the lines running down the neck of the guitar.  “Push the strings down in the frets with your left hand, and strum the strings with your right.  Different frets make different notes.  See?”

He placed her finger on the first fret of the high E string, played the note, moved it to the second fret, and played again.  This made her smile, and caused her to start experimenting with different frets on different strings, giggling when she accidentally played something that sounded nice.

Soon he was teaching her basic melodies, like  _ Ode to Joy _ , telling her what notes were on what frets.  An hour was up before they knew it, and they both had to get back to work.  So he called her in the next day, and they talked about more melodies.  And the day after they went over three-string chords.  The girl picked it up beautifully, never forgetting a lesson, catching the tiniest details in his instruction and replicating them perfectly.  In two weeks, she was as good as her master.  In two months, he suspected she was the best in the world.  A prodigy.  This is what she was born to do, by his reckoning.

Soon, they started eating meals together in his office.  Just talking, about anything.  Laughing, joking.  The girl at one point convinced the man to dance like a fool in his own office.  She danced with him, and they both dropped to the floor laughing.  She ended up with her head on his stomach, and for some reason, he began to stroke her hair.  He didn't think about it, it was just a reflex.  And she didn't think about it when she started cuddling up against him.  If an alarm didn't go off, neither of them would have remembered to get back to work.

The child scampered off to join her colleagues, and the man was about to follow, but was intercepted by Takahashi.

“Kyuzo,” he said, right outside the man’s office.

“Yes?”

“You have been spending a great deal of time with that girl.”

“Yes, I am helping her refine her skills.”

“Yes, yes… what skills, exactly?”

“...guitar.”

“Exactly, Kyuzo.  Guitar.  Does that help her change her identity on the fly?  Does that help her block swords with her bare hands?”

“No, but-”

“Then why are you doing it?  Why?”

“She seemed to take to music-”

“THESE ARE… sorry.  Let's keep this professional.  These are soldiers, Kyuzo, nothing else.  Machines programmed to do only as they're told, built to follow grim instructions.  We have to be prepared to lose any number of them at any time.”

“No one understands that better than I do, Takahashi.”

“Then why are you getting attached to #23?”

“I'm not getting attached.”

“I can hear you in there.  These walls are surprisingly thin.”

“Well… this girl… she’s a prodigy!  Her abilities exceed anyone’s I’ve ever seen!  I can’t let that talent go unrealized!”

“Kyuzo-”

“She wasn't even supposed to be a part of this!  I got her from an orphanage!  Maybe… maybe that was a mistake.  Maybe we should let her go, let her live a normal life.”

“It’s too late for that.  Years too late.”  He sighed.  “Kyuzo… you're still having trouble with your wife, aren't you?  Still can't conceive?”

“Not that it’s your business, but no, we can't.”

“Exactly.  Don't you see what you're doing?”

“No.”

“You're letting #23 become your surrogate daughter.”

“No, that's not… that's… not…”

“I have to go deal with the kids.  Think about that.”

Takahashi walked off with heavy feet, leaving a paralyzed man with his thoughts.

\--

The next day, #23 ran over to the stereo the moment their free time started, as she always did.  She waited for the man to come and ask for her, as she always did.  But something was wrong.  He never came.  That was the first time she’d ever spent her free time in her room, and she spent it with her face in her pillow.

\--

**1998**

The man arrived at home after a rather difficult day on the job.  None of them had been easy, not for a while.  Most of the children had become erratic, hard to control, harder to predict.  They got in  _ real _ fights with each other and with their instructor, requiring the employment of a much larger security team with many more weapons.  He didn't like the atmosphere it created.  One of them didn't deserve it.

“Please,” he said to his wife upon walking through the door, “Please tell me you have some sort of good news.  Anything.”

His wife (this time not having a fit) sprung up and hugged her husband.  “Well, your magazines did arrive.”

“Oh, good, where are they?”

“I left them in your office, like I always do.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Of course!”

He often ordered music magazines from other countries, just to see what music culture was like around the world.  This load was from the UK.  When he read through them, he found one square in the corner of the last piece of the NME magazine.  A guitarist was wanted for some new band in Essex, England.  For a split-second, a hairbrained plan crossed his mind.  It was immediately deemed ridiculous.

He still took the magazine to work the next morning.

\--

The noises of the kids at work were somewhat disturbing.  Yells, screams, of pain and of power; he couldn't tell what exactly they were for, he just knew that the stress of knowing his project was receiving its annual evaluation.  Members of a secret branch of the Japanese government- his bosses- were taking a look at the children and their abilities to determine whether he’d get funding for the next twelve months.  It was always the hardest day of the year, at least psychologically.  But every year thus far, they'd pulled though.  This year, however…

A person in a suit came into his office only a couple of hours into the day.

“Mr. Kyuzo,” he began, “I need to talk to you about this program of yours.

“Why?  No one’s ever had to before.”

“Perhaps not, but I now have reason to.  Those kids are… not healthy.  Physically, they’re fine- beyond fine, even.  But watching their behavior is disturbing.  Your friend is having a hard time reeling them in as is, could you imagine what they’ll be like as adults?”

“They're difficult, yes, but I can assure you they're extremely effective.”

“Effective, yes,  _ too _ effective.  The government doesn't want a group of people that effective to get out of hand.”

“So?”

“So, they're getting out of hand.  Right now.  Watching them do their thing, I'm fearing for my own life.  There’s only one kid who doesn't appear to be insane-”

“Number 23?”

“How'd you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Anyway, the ethics board has been on the fence about this from the start.  You are training kids from birth to be killers.  That is repulsive, to most people.  Every year, your budget has been approved by only a hair.  Now… looking at those kids, I don't think we’ll see any real benefit.  If we continue, they'll break loose and… one of them is capable of bringing the world to it's knees.  What would more than twenty do?  That's not a risk we’re willing to take any longer, Kyuzo.”

“You're shutting us down?”

“I'm afraid so.  Don’t worry, we’ll find other work for you.  You’re not being fired, this project is.”

“But-”

“Don't argue.  No one’s minds are gonna change at this point.  I need you to wipe this place clean.  No one can know this project ever happened, understand?  Burn paperwork, destroy computers, and most importantly, destroy the kids.”

“You want me to kill them?”

“Of course!  Do it tonight, while they're sleeping.  It will be painless for them and safer for you.”

“No, no, I can't”

“Why not?”

He took a moment to choose his words carefully.  “I have put so much effort into this project, I cannot bear to destroy it myself.”

“Well, you have to.  I’m sorry.”

The government agent left without another word.  That's it.  A project nearly ten years in the making.  And he had to destroy it.  Worse, he had to kill the kids.

He glanced at the clock- playtime for them.  A thought crossed his mind.  Perhaps, before he ended it in fervent cruelty, a gesture of kindness was in order.  He grabbed his guitar (which never left its spot behind his desk) and left the office, making his way down the halls, around feuding children, to the living quarters.  At the end of the hall was Room 23.  He entered.

The girl was laying on her bed, reading a book.  She looked over at the intruder.

“Mr. Kyuzo?  What are you doing here?”

He sighed, looking around.  She’d personalized the room a little.  Not significantly, but the stereo that used to belong to everyone now sat squarely on her bedside table.  He made his way to the center of the small room before holding out the instrument out to her.  “I just wanted you to have this.”

She stood up, wide-eyed.  “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There is no reason.  Please take it.”

She did, immediately returning to her bed, playing a single chord, and smiling up at the man.  “Thank you!”

“You could always make better use of it than myself anyway… well, goodbye.”

As he turned around, she started playing something.  It was quiet, sweet, a little melancholy.  A hummable melody he wouldn’t soon forget.  “What piece is that?” he asked.

“It doesn’t have a name.”

“Who wrote it?”

“I did.”

He turned back around, staring at her for a moment.  Eventually he chuckled, and smiled at her.  “Of course you did.”

\--

Night fell in abnormal silence, as if the world knew something horrible would take place.  The man sat at his desk, a silenced pistol in his hand, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.  Several deep breaths.  Several deep breaths…

He stormed down the pitch-black hallway, eager to get this done as quickly as possible.  He opened door number one, pointed the gun at the head on the pillow, and pulled the trigger.  Twenty-two left.  He opened door number two, pointed the gun at the head on the pillow and pulled the trigger.  Twenty-one left.  He walked down the hall, one by one, killing the children he helped to create, the vicious machines who knew nothing of the pleasures of an ordinary life.  Perhaps he was doing them favors.  Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, more than halfway there.  He didn’t feel remorse or regret, he  _ really did  _ see them as weapons more than children.  Of course, that’s what they were twenty-one, twenty-two… one left.

It took a minute to find the courage to open the last door.  He told himself he didn’t care.  This was his job.  She was a weapon, not a human being.  But the shake in his hand and the twitch in his eye betrayed him.  No matter.  A deep breath, and the door was open.

The light was on, and there she was.  Not only awake, but active, having been looking at the guitar in her hands before he stepped in, notes scribbled on a paper beside her.  He watched her face.  She was making calm eye contact with the raised barrel of his gun, seemingly accepting her fate already.   _ This girl can easily destroy me if she wants to,  _ he thought.  But she didn’t.  Instead she sat still, perfectly composed, the foil to the man who was using everything in his power not to have a breakdown.  His hand shook so much he wasn’t sure he’d even hit her if he pulled the trigger.

A minute went by.  Two.  Three.  After five, the girl’s gaze flicked from the gun to the man, and, with the hint of a smile on her face, she said something.

“It’s okay.”

Every muscle in the man’s body clenched, all but the finger hovering just beyond the trigger of his pistol.  “ _ Fuck _ ,” he said, dropping the gun on the floor and scooping the girl into his arms.  Carrying her, he ran down the hallway, counting the numbers on the doors to himself.   _ 22… 20… 18… _  Finally, Room Zero.  A tiny, metal room with metal walls, a metal chair in the center, and nothing else but a lamp rigged to move around the room in circles.  He opened the door, and plopped the girl in the chair, prompting the question, “What is going on?”

“Don’t ask questions,” he responded, pulling a little booklet out of his coat pocket and flipping through it frantically.  Eventually, he found what he wanted, and flipped on the moving lamp.

“Focus on the light,” he instructed.  The girl nodded and followed it with her eyes, without hesitation.  “Now listen to my words and keep your eyes on the light.  She nodded again.  His eyes were as glued to the book as hers to the light.  A list of words, printed finely was the subject of his interest.  Slowly, he read them off.  “Life… death… motorcar… treehouse… barricade… pine tree… convenience… ocean… bacon.”  He looked up just in time to see the girl’s eyelids fall, and her head drop to one side.  “I’m sorry,” he said as he picked her up once more.

He found an unused crate that seemed large enough for a child, plus some.  He packed her in it with a pillow, her favorite helmet (which he had gotten her with instructions to hide it in her room), and most importantly, the guitar.  The weight of the girl plus the crate and guitar was almost too much for him to handle, but somehow he found the strength to get it up the stairs, out of the complex, and into the backseat of his car.  The lid.  He had forgotten the lid.  The trip back down was short but nerve wracking; it would only take one person to be awake and wandering the halls to ruin his career, perhaps even end his life.  And hers.

After a moment’s searching, he found the lid to the crate, and the NME magazine he read the night before.  He flipped to the ‘guitarist wanted’ ad, and scrawled its address onto the lid of the box with a permanent marker.

Back at his car, he took one last look at the child he was trying to save.  There was something odd about her, something that reminded him of his wife.  And himself.  “I want to keep you,” he said, knowing she was unconscious.  “I want to keep you for myself, but that would be dangerous.  If they find out you’re alive, they’ll come for both of us, so… the best thing I can do for you is send you far away.  I know it won’t be a comfortable trip, but it’s safer than getting you an airplane ticket….  You didn’t have a name when I found you, so I’m not giving you a name now.  That will be up to your new caretakers, whomever they will be.  So… good luck.”  He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her forehead before lowering the lid over the crate, and returning to the compound.  He made a phone call.

“...Hello?  Is this Kyuzo?”

“Yes it is.”

“Did you do it?”

“Yes I did.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

\--

The girl woke with a start, bumping her head against the lid of the box.  Clearly she was in some sort of vehicle.  It was too dark to see anything, so she felt around, finding a pillow, her guitar, her helmet… and nothing else.  To prevent further injury, she put the helmet on and stuffed the pillow between herself and the wall of the box, strumming away to keep herself occupied.

She thought for a moment.  How did she end up in a box anyway?  And where was she going?  Where did she come from?  And… who was she?  Nothing came to mind.  There were no memories at all.  Just… her, at that moment.  As if she spontaneously came into existence in that box.

The vehicle came to a stop.  She heard a door open, and she felt the box get lifted, and carried for a minute.  She tried to minimize her shaking.  Surely it would be better to stay in the box than it would be to get out of it.  Some time later, she could her a little panting.  Maybe the person moving the box was out of shape or something?  Eventually he dropped her with a bit of a thud (which she almost complained about), knocked on something, and ran off.  She could her muffled yelling.  Then a door opened.  Was this good?  She re-positioned herself to be more ready for jolts and drops, if someone else tried to move the box.  After but a moment, someone did, but this person took greater care to set her down gently.  Then there was the sound of a door closing, followed by arguing.  There were two men, speaking a language that was foreign… but oddly familiar.  She couldn’t understand it, but for some reason, it rang a bell.  Maybe she should peak.  Just to see what was going on, just to see where she was.  Slowly, she pushed open the lid of the box, and raised her head to see a shirtless man with green-tinted skin, and a frightened man with black eyes and blue hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an idea I had while I was in the shower today. A scenario I really wanted to write. So, I wrote this just today. 5k words in a day is pretty good for me, and I'm pretty happy with it.  
> Obviously there are a lot of headcanons, but... you know...
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are really encouraging. You rock.


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